


i came home like a stone

by bitnotgood



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitnotgood/pseuds/bitnotgood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a while since Jim has dealt with a birthday on his own, and it's a little more difficult than it used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i came home like a stone

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic two months ago while on a road trip with my family. (We were driving through Yellowstone and it was too dark to do anything else, so.) All I really wanted at the time was an excuse for Uhura and Jim to bond, but I ended up with this. 
> 
> Thank you's to Jenny for being a stellar beta and putting up with all of my feelings online, and Ellen for doing all of that in real life.

It’s somewhere after the third punch, or maybe the eighth, that Jim realizes he doesn’t even know how this fight started or why he was stupid enough to pick a guy with such broad shoulders and hard knuckles. He keeps swinging, missing, swinging again, but he’s just not into it and his hand doesn’t seem to be connecting with the other guy’s face. But _fuck_ this guy, he sure as hell isn’t missing. It only takes one more punch colliding with the side of Jim’s head for his vision to go bleary on one side and the bartender’s voice starts rattling around in his head.

“Break it up, boys,” he says. 

Jim thinks he hears the other guy laugh, and he’s _this close_ to throwing one more punch, but Jim Kirk isn’t enough of an idiot to have an actual death wish. So he just stops because, “ _fine_ , alright. It wasn’t fun anymore,” he calls across the bar to the receding back of the guy. He doesn’t look nearly as bad as Jim does. 

Jim sits his ass down at the bar and orders another beer. He’s ready for quite a few more drinks, but the guy behind the bar is giving him this disappointed look, which is the last thing he needs tonight. If he wanted to have someone look at him like he was the biggest piece of shit on Earth, he would call Nyota Uhura. At least she’s hot.

So that’s how Jim ends up sitting next to Uhura at some bar in who the hell knows where after this many drinks on a Thursday night. Jim’s got a wad of kleenex shoved up one nostril and a bruise blossoming over his right eye. Another night, another fight, and Jim doesn’t really want to talk about it. 

When he spares a glance at Uhura, who is currently sipping a beer, it doesn’t look like she wants to talk about it either. This moment could almost parallel the first time they met, except she’s not in cadet reds, he’s already been beaten up, and now she has actual reasons to dislike him besides the fact that he exists and tried to hit on her. (He still does the latter fairly regularly, though.)

Sending death glares at the vacant space in front of her, Jim imagines that Uhura is visualizing all the ways she could kill him. Then she sighs heavily, and he decides that maybe she’s thinking about all the things she could be doing instead of nannying Jim. Either way, she’s clearly not pleased to be here, and Jim feels guilty.

"Look, Ny-" Jim drunkenly starts before she cuts him off with a sharp, very pissed glare. Jim puts up a hand in surrender. "Sorry. _Uhura_. Wait, why can't I say your name? I mean, I _know_ your name. Spock says your name. I hear him _moan_ your name on an almost daily basis, but--"

"Jim!"

"It's really hot, but--"

"I swear to God I will kill you in your sleep."

Jim grins something sly and crooked and _very_ drunk. “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t actually kill me.” 

She glares again.

“Okay, yeah, you would.” Jim nods. Uhura would definitely kill him, and then she would talk Spock into figuring out the most logical way to hide the body. _Asshole_ , Jim thinks offhandedly, but then Uhura chuckles quietly, and Jim realizes that he said all of that out loud.

“You’re right, though,” Uhura agrees with the faintest trace of a smile. It takes Jim a moment to realize he isn’t entirely sure what he was right about. Uhura laughs at the confusion on Jim’s face and points out the cute way he blushes.

When the laughter settles Jim notices Uhura take another sip of her beer and then peer down at her communicator screen to check the time. The motion reminds Jim that he was trying to apologize before the conversation veered to the topic of Uhura and Spock’s sex life. He clears his throat in attempt to get rid of the thought of a threesome that will never happen between his science officer and lieutenant.

"I'm just sorry about tonight, Uhura,” he finally gets out around his almost empty bottle of beer.

"You don't have to, Jim. I get it. It's a..." she hesitates a moment, trying to find the word. "It’s a tough day," she finally settles on. Jim can't help but let out a laugh as he finishes off his beer. Uhura laughs, too. It’s a softer sound, not as harsh and bitter as Jim’s, something bordering between sympathetic and tired. She places a hand on top of Jim's and squeezes it lightly. When he looks over at her, Uhura’s lips are just barely a smile, one of the ones a person feels obligated to give to people when they don’t really know what else to say. 

And really there isn’t anything else to say, so Jim just squeezes back.

\--

See, the main thing is that Jim's dad has been dead for as long as Jim has been alive and there's something poetic about the parallel, so Jim just has to get drunk and beat the shit out of _something_ in order to make sense of it all.

At least that's how Jim described it to Bones the first time he came to pick him up after a fight on his birthday. They had only known each other for a few months, and Bones-- who wasn’t even Bones yet, just Leonard McCoy with the occasional stick up his ass-- had only just started looking disappointed when he saw Jim after a fight.

"Who started it this time, kid?" he sighed, because it was never Jim's fault, and they both knew that was a lie.

"George Kirk," Jim responded with something that sounded like a laugh, and that seemed to shut Leonard right up.

He ordered himself a shot and a beer, plus a round for Jim. When the bartender brought them Leonard tilted his shot towards Jim and said, "Happy birthday, kid," before downing his shot like maybe he understood exactly where Jim was coming from.

The following year when Jim was going to leave for the bar, Bones-- because it had taken a while, but Jim finally wore Leonard down to _Bones_ \-- grabbed his own coat and followed after him. "Figured I might as well come with and save you from getting the shit beat out of your fool self," he said, like Jim was the biggest pain in his ass.

"Bones, you are an absolute star," Jim had said with his finest shit eating grin and didn't even bother arguing that getting his ass beat was the whole point of going out on this very night.

So Bones huffed and Jim knocked into his side and that was how they handled birthdays, anniversaries, and some of the days inbetween.

\--

It turns out that the bar is really far away from Jim’s apartment. Or maybe it isn’t and Uhura is just making the walk take forever, Jim’s not sure. He doesn’t mind either way. 

The walk is nice. Uhura isn’t pushy or touchy-feely, and she doesn’t seem to be interested in small talk. Jim isn’t either, but he is a little bit drunk and his thoughts are sloshing around his head and the silence is just a little bit too much for him right now.

Jim looks over at Uhura, and she rolls her eyes at him. He isn’t sure what he’s done to deserve that, but he can’t help but grin and laugh at how that was such a Bones thing to do.

Uhura arches an eyebrow in question, and Jim just laughs again. “That right there, what you did with your face. That’s a classic Bones expression.”

Jim is surprised Uhura hasn’t asked where the good doctor is tonight. He guesses she knows already, because Uhura is intuitive and pays attention. Plus she and Bones _talk_ and he gets to call her, _Nyota darlin’_ and sometimes they get coffee together. Jim wrinkles his nose at the thought of having other friends, but he gets together with Spock to play chess every now and then, so maybe they can call it even. Bones would call _him_ stupid for being childish.

“He’s in Georgia for some sort of fancy medical conference,” Jim tells her anyway. “He’ll be back on Sunday. Which is fine, I don’t mind,” he adds like it matters. It’s a lie, he does mind, but he’s not going to share that.

Uhura just nods and smiles like she knows all of his secrets. Her eyes stay forward, concentrating on the pavement in front of them. It should seem awkward, the whole night should, but it isn’t. There’s a comfortable silence between them. 

It’s that nice easy feeling that prompts Jim to ask, “Are you and Spock, y’know?” He blames the awkward flail of his hands and the stammering of the question on the alcohol that’s still pulsing through his system. 

They come to a stop at a crosswalk that’s blinking a red hand at them across the street. He’s about to cross when Uhura places a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to wait for the walking figure to appear. 

“Are we what?” she asks patiently.

Jim opens his mouth to respond, but closes it when he’s not really sure what he was going to ask or, really, why he’s asking it at all. He finally settles on: “Are you actually _in love_?” and the last two words come out like some sort of plea. “Like, you’ll be happy forever as long as you’re with each other type of in love. The shit they talk about in books and movies.”

He looks over at Uhura, trying to gauge some sort of reaction, but her face stays neutral. Jim’s actually glad she’s not looking at him, because he’s pretty sure he looks like a madman, eyes wild and mouth hanging open slightly, breathing heavily out his nose. 

Then the walking figure appears and Uhura tugs Jim into motion. When they get to the other side Jim just barely catches Uhura looking at him. It isn’t really anything, but it is _something_ , and it’s enough for Jim to stop walking, pulling Uhura to a halt next to him. She doesn’t protest. Uhura looks up at him with wide brown eyes, and Jim stares back, all steel and resilience, just daring her to pity him. But this is Uhura, and so there’s no trace of pity; she doesn’t back down either. 

It’s just the two of them standing in the middle of the sidewalk, figuring each other out as the rest of the city bustles on around them. The feeling is. Well, it’s strange. Jim feels open and vulnerable under Uhura’s strong gaze, but it isn’t an unpleasant feeling. It makes him feel warm all over, makes him feel loved. 

The feeling must show on his face, because Uhura just offers a small, curt nod and says, “Come on, let’s get you home.”

They walk a couple yards, and Jim assumes Uhura just isn’t going to talk about it because they’ve slipped back into a comfortable silence. Until she says, “Maybe.” It comes out like a frustrated sigh.

It’s almost like they’re actually _friends_ who are having a normal conversation. Which is completely out of Jim’s depth when it comes to people who aren’t Bones, so he fixes her with a look.

Uhura laughs at that and then says a little more confidently, "I think so. Or at least I'd like us to be." Jim nods sagely, not entirely sure why he needed to know. Uhura doesn't bother asking why either. 

\--

It actually comes down to this:

James Kirk has never _really_ seen love or experienced it. He’s read empty words written by authors who clearly thought they knew something, and he’s watched actors dance around each other until they had him (mainly Bones) yelling, "Can’t you tell he’s fucking in love with you? You’re a god damn idiot.”

He could have learned it from his mother. She loved his father with all of her heart, but he was a dead man, someone in a hologram that she would occasionally press kissed-fingers against and whisper secrets to before bed, a man she saw in Jim’s eyes and his smile. The only thing she taught him about love was how to love a ghost, which isn’t the same as loving someone who’s alive.

(Those two things are entirely different, Jim knew that much.)

But he had Uhura and Spock as two of his closest friends. They were in love, had to be, because Jim could feel the love and affection washing off of them in waves. The way they looked at each other made Jim want to puke rainbows and roll his eyes until they fell out of his head. 

Spock looked at Uhura with this small contemplative smile like he was trying to figure out how Uhura could possibly exist, let alone _love him_ , and Uhura would get a sort of twinkle in her eye like she was lucky to be the exception to the rule.

He needs to know because if Spock and Uhura aren’t in love, then Jim has got it all wrong, and he doesn’t even stand a chance. 

\--

“How far away was that fucking bar?” Jim asks when they finally stop in front of their apartment, because it seems like the walk took _forever_. 

“It was only a few blocks away, Jim.” Uhura sighs and her face says, _don’t be so pathetic, Jim._ He laughs and follows her through the door, presses the button for the elevator and waits patiently for the ‘ding’. 

When they step into the elevator Jim falls back against the wall and sighs, willing the elevator ride to last just a little bit longer than normal. He doesn’t want to go back to the empty apartment, or more importantly, the apartment without Leonard McCoy in it. 

He wonders, for a moment, what Bones is up to tonight. If he’s back from the conference and getting drinks with M’Benga and Chapel, or maybe he’s holed away in his hotel with a bottle of bourbon like the anti-social bastard he occasionally likes to be. Jim wonders for an even shorter moment if maybe Bones is thinking about him, missing Jim in the same way that he’s missing Bones.

Something must show on Jim’s face because Uhura moves closer, their shoulders just touching, and without looking at him, asks in the lightest tone, “Do you love him?”

The question makes Jim’s body tense, like he’s five years old again and has just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, wanting something he’s not allowed to have. He nods his head without thinking about the weight of what he’s agreeing to, not even having to ask who it is Uhura’s talking about. He’s confident, almost confident, about his answer, but there’s still something terrifying about the blush that’s creeping up his cheeks and the way his stomach is currently tying itself up in knots at the thought of being in love with Bones.

Thin, warm fingers work their way between Jim’s clenched fist, and Uhura is squeezing his hand again. He really wishes he was a little less sober for this whole conversation.

The elevator pings and Uhura drops his hand and smooths invisible wrinkles from her shirt. When they’re both out of the the elevator she offers him a small smile and shrugs. “It happens to the best of us.” 

She levels him with a pointed look before turning down the hall toward her apartment, leaving Jim to laugh at her receding figure. He almost wants to take it back, that half-way confident nod from the elevator ride and say he was just kidding, tell Uhura that he’s not in love, only suckers fall for that sort of shit. But Uhura would just glare and tell him he’s the biggest sucker of them all.

“This is me,” Uhura announces, coming to a stop in front of the door to the apartment she and Spock share. Jim and Bones live in the opposite corner meaning the four conveniently share a bedroom wall, which is why Jim knows about the moaning. 

“This is you,” Jim says for the sake of having something to say. Uhura nods slowly, her gaze expectant. He rocks awkwardly on the balls of his feet, hands in his pocket. When another beat falls between them Uhura just rolls her eyes.

“Come here, you,” she says, arms pulling him into a warm hug.

“Thanks,” he murmurs into the crook of her neck, long hair tickling at his nose. She smells like coconut and spice, and _comfort_. 

When they pull apart, Jim’s signature grin is back on his face. “You and Spock should get married. Settle down, have little half-Vulcan babies. Well,” he falters, brow wrinkling in a moment of confusion. “They’d be more like quarter-Vulcan babies, wouldn’t they?”

Uhura just rolls her eyes again, and Jim eases at the normalcy of it. “Good night, Jim.” It comes out like a long exasperated sigh, shaking her head as she puts the key in the lock. 

“Just think how adorable they’d be. I could be the godfather! They’d call me Uncle Jim and I’d bring them fun presents-- illogical things that Spock won’t let them have. Y’know, I’ve always aspired to be the cool uncle.”

“ _Good night, Jim_.”

Jim lets out another laugh and turns towards his door. He hears the click of her door unlocking and soon he'll hear it click closed. But he doesn't.

"Hey Jim?"

He looks over his shoulder to see Uhura standing in her doorway. He can also see the soft glow of the desk lap most likely illuminating some fascinating project Spock is working on. Jim raises his eyebrows in question.

"Tell Leonard, okay?"

Jim shakes his head. "Good night, Uhura," he calls over his shoulder and unlocks his own door, preparing himself for the quiet of the empty apartment. 

\--

The fact-- because it’s a fact now, not just a thought or a laughable idea in the back of Jim’s mind-- the fact that Jim is in love with Bones shouldn’t be surprising.

(It’s terrifying and overwhelming and strange to be in love with Bones, but it isn’t surprising.) 

If Jim is being honest with himself, he knew from the beginning, when the gruff, unhappy drunk sat down next to him and ranted for hours about the dangers and diseases of space with a slightly manic look in his eyes. Jim knew then that Leonard McCoy would fucking ruin him in one way or another. 

He’s maybe just a little surprised that it took this long to figure it out.

For all that Bones complains about the way Jim shoved himself into his life, but Bones is the one who sat himself down in the middle of Jim’s life, and then made a point of sticking around. He let Jim push and shove his way into the intricacies of his daily life. It makes sense that somewhere along the way the boundaries lifted and the lines that separated their lives seeped away until it was hard to tell who one man was when the other wasn’t around.

It all has to do with proximity, Jim thinks. There’s a theory about that, right? The more time a person spends with someone, the more likely they are to like them. 

That has to be it, because there’s no way that James Kirk would do something as stupid and cliched as falling in love with his best friend. 

\--

Jim expects to be hit with the feeling that comes with walking into an empty space. The feeling of being alone with his thoughts and nothing but silence buzzing in his ears. 

Except for how it’s not empty. 

To Jim’s surprise, Bones is passed out in the worn armchair-- the one his mother had sent from Iowa with a note taped to it saying she was so proud of him. (Jim didn’t understand what she meant at the time, they were only on leave, and it definitely didn’t mean anything. 

When he commed her the next day he told her just that, but Winona wasn’t having any of it. “Whatever you say, Jimmy.” A smile crinkled at the corners of her eyes. “Just remember I love you,” she added before ending the call.)

Jim gives himself a moment to take in the sight before him. Bones has his legs crossed on the coffee table that’s littered with medical journals and other various PADDs. Bones, even in sleep, has a slight wrinkle to his brow, but his mouth is open, lips parted in a slight “o” that Jim is just itching to run his thumb across. He doesn’t look happy, but that’s because Bones doesn't really do happiness, not when he can help it. 

Leonard McCoy has to be poked, prodded, cajoled, harassed, or be taken by complete surprise-- all things that Jim is a master at doing-- in order to show the faintest traces of happiness. So it makes sense that he looks a little ruffled, but he does look content. Which Jim decides is nice enough, going by the ache it leaves in his chest. 

Jim eyes the afghan tossed at the end of the couch and moves towards it, his body needing to do _something_ other than loom in the doorway. Although the alcohol has mostly filtered through his system, his movements are a little awkward, and he knocks his knee into the table. He winces at the way Bones more or less jolts awake. _Fuck_.

“Jim, is that you?” he asks, sleep-thick words nothing more than a low rumble. 

“Honey, I’m home,” Jim sing songs, but it’s quiet and off-key. He puts on his most innocent smile and flops down on the couch. When he spares a glance back at Bones, he’s glaring, of course he is, but there’s something soft in his expression. Then he digs the heel of his palm into his eyes and yawns before stretching, exposing a thin strip of belly that Jim most definitely does not stare at.

“I’m mad at you,” Bone says as he stands, most likely going to get his medkit. 

"Mad at me? Why are you mad at me?" Jim keeps his tone light. 

There isn’t an immediate response, but then Bones is emerging from the bathroom with a hypospray and tricorder in hand. 

"I’m _mad_ , Jim, because I thought someone finally beat the shit out of you and left you for dead in some alley behind a bar.”

There’s a certain edge to Bones’ voice that Jim doesn’t really know how to place. He’s not sure how to respond, so he goes with cocky by default. "I'm a captain of a starship, Bones. People don't do that to captains."

Bones scoffs. "Yeah, but you are an idiot and that sort of thing happens all the time to idiots." He punctuates the last word with the jab of a hypospray to Jim’s neck. “That’ll help with the pain and the swelling,” he explains, as though they haven’t done this a million times before. 

“Yes, thank you, I know,” Jim hisses, rubbing a hand against his neck. Bones starts to busy himself with Jim’s battered hands. He doesn’t bother asking questions about where it hurts or why it happened. In moments like these, Bones gets very single-minded; Jim is hurt, so Bones fixes him.

It’s when Bones is running the tricorder over the rest of Jim’s body that he remembers something, something so big and blaring that Jim can’t believe he forgot about it. Hell, it’s at least half the reason he went out tonight. “You’re supposed to be in Georgia.” 

“Mhm,” Bones says, teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he places the tricorder on the coffee table. His hands move towards Jim’s face, but Jim bats them away before they get there.

“For another three days,” Jim adds without bothering to hide the confusion in his voice.

Bones sighs like he’s too damn old and too damn tired to be having this conversation. “What’s your point, Jim?”

“My point,” he says slowly, “is that you had a week long medical conference in Georgia that ends on Sunday, but it’s Thursday and you’re not in fucking Georgia.” Jim has no idea where the heat behind his words is coming from. He just wants to know _why_ Bones is here.

Or maybe the question is _how_? How is it that Bones always knows when Jim needs him the most, even when he’s not around?

Something sparks in Bones’ eyes, and his mouth sets into a rigid line. When he starts talking his voice is similar to that one he uses on difficult patients who are refuse to listen to reason. Jim has been that patient many times. “I told you, I was fucking _worried_. I had sent you messages, even tried calling a couple of time, but you didn’t respond.”

Jim can’t help but flinch at the slight rage in Bones’ voice. He spares a glance at his communicator for the first time in hours and feels guilt swell up inside him when he see there are 26 missed texts and two missed calls, most likely with accompanying voicemails. Just thinking about them makes Jim want to start throwing up apologies. He starts to say something, but Bones keeps going.

He doesn’t look at Jim when he says, “I didn’t know what to think.” The slight tremor in his voice causes Jim to look up from where he had been watching the communicator in his lap. Bones is looking at Jim with the softest expression. “I didn’t really know what I’d do if something happened to you when I wasn’t around, so I just came home.”

Jim blinks once, twice, and his heart does more than skip a fucking beat, possibly stops all together, because Bones has been calling Georgia home all of the years that Jim has known him, but now he’s calling this place-- this shitty apartment they share together-- home, and Jim needs to be sure he isn’t actually hallucinating. 

So he simply asks, “You came _home_?” because maybe Bones didn’t really mean to say it. 

“What do you mean, Jim?” Any trace of the softness from before seems to have vanished, and Jim almost wants to kiss him just for that. “Yes, I came home to you and--” _oh_. 

Jim can see the dots connecting behind Bones’ eyes, and all the fight seems to wash out of him, that soft expression returning. “Yeah, kid, I came home.” 

Then they’re staring at each other, nothing but silence and half a foot of empty space between them. Jim wants to say something, needs to tell Bones that he’s so utterly fucked over him, even if Bones just laughs in his face. 

Before he gets the chance to, Bones is placing his hands on Jim’s face, and the touch is so gentle. He wants to tell Bones not to worry, that he doesn’t break that easily. Even if he did, he’d let Leonard McCoy do it over and over again until he was nothing but dust in the fucking carpet. And _god_ , when did he become this person?

“Let me just get a look at that eye.” The low rumble of Bones’ voice brings Jim’s attention back to the warm feeling of his hand spread against Jim’s already flushed cheek. There are fingertips barely touching the hair at the nape of Jim’s neck. Bones’ thumb is skimming the bruised skin under his eye and the slow drag of of it is enough to make Jim’s breath hitch. 

He’s pretty sure Bones makes some sort of sound, but all Jim can seem to hear is the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. Bones isn’t even looking at his eye anymore, instead he’s gazing at Jim’s mouth with a look that could be described as, _well_ , really sexy.

He means to be a smartass and tell Bones he should be inspecting his eye and not his mouth. Instead he breathes out, “Shouldn’t you be closer to my face?” and doesn’t even wait for a response before reaching his fingers to the soft fabric of Bones’ shirt, tugging him closer. Then Bones is meeting him in the middle, the hand at the base of Jim’s neck pulling him in and then _finally_ they’re kissing.

\--

Except, it isn’t really kissing, not the way Jim sees it. 

Jim has kissed other people before, he’s done that and then some with so many that he’s lost count of them all. They’ve been short and sweet, tasting like artificial lip gloss and fruity booze, or have lasted too long in the stalls of sleazy bathrooms in who the hell knows where. Some of them were even enjoyable, but it was all the same action of swapped saliva and firm press of soft lips. (Hell, he’s even kissed Bones before--but he wasn’t Bones, just Leonard slurring, _don’t call me that, kid_ \-- and they were both so drunk that they missed and bumped noses and _giggled_ like fucking pre-teens, but it didn’t count because he was _Leonard_ and Jim didn’t think it was ever going to count, or that it would ever matter if it did.) 

Thinking back, though, it feels like all of those other kisses were just practice leading up to this, because kissing Bones is _easy_. 

Something natural like breathing in lungs full of air from back home that somehow manages to taste like whiskey and sun-ripened peaches, even though Iowa smells like miles and miles of corn. That doesn’t matter because this right here is home, with Jim climbing into Bones’ lap and Bones running fingers through Jim’s hair and down his sides like he’s trying to find a way under Jim’s skin. This is home. But hadn’t they just had that conversation?

They might’ve, Jim isn’t sure, doesn’t quite remember right now, because there are more important things at hand. Like the way Bones’ lips are pressed up against his and they feel chapped, but not too chapped, just like Jim always thought. And then it doesn’t even matter what his lips feel like because Bones is licking his way into Jim’s mouth. One of them is moaning something unintelligible; it must be Jim if the slight, satisfying curl of Bones’ mouth is anything to go by.

From there it’s hot and wet, licking and biting, and nothing but _touch touch touch_ and the sound of their breathing. Until it’s Bones groaning, “bed, _now_ ” against the shell of Jim’s ear, sending visible shivers through Jim’s body. And then it’s the task of extracting themselves from one another so that their lips are still connected, but they’re untangled enough to actually move.

The walk from the couch to the bedroom seems to take _forever_ , and Jim begins to regret the decision to move at all, but takes it all back when Bones is backing him through the doorway and they’re stumbling into bed. The same bed, Jim thinks for a moment, that they’ve been sharing for _years_. Why is it that they’re just doing this now?

“Idiots,” he laughs as Bones kisses and bites his way down the length of his neck. When he looks up at Jim in question, Jim lets out the most undignified whining sound because the fact that they’re the biggest idiots in the whole entire solar system is not nearly as important as having Bones’ mouth on his skin. 

At least they made it _here_. The world could fucking end in the morning and it would be fine, because Bones is pressed against Jim, whispering nonsense words like _I love you_ into his ear, and Jim is whispering them back. Even if he died tomorrow he wouldn’t die the way his father did, with the same words barely off his tongue before exploding into stardust. 

If he died tomorrow, Bones would be with him and they’d go home together, and that’s just fine with him.


End file.
